The Morning After
by Razzaroo
Summary: Julian Blackthorn has regrets. Julian Blackthorn has so many regrets. [Follow up to The First Time.]


**A/N. Julian might have regrets but I certainly don't. Drink responsibly, kids.**

* * *

He wakes up with a hangover.

Julian rolls over with a groan and presses his cheek in the pillow. Nothing smells like his room; there's a thin, wild edge to the dusty smell of sleep that clings to the pillow and the sheets. He opens his eyes and finds himself staring at a wall painted pale green. He twists, the sheets tangling around his waist, and looks to the alarm clock on the bedside table; its hands are frozen at half past two because the batteries died a long time ago. There's a writing desk tucked under the high window and a shelf of books gathers dust, untouched for five years. A bow and a quiver of arrows lean against the wall.

He's in Mark's room.

Mark himself is nowhere to be seen. Julian turns onto his back and tucks his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and willing for his head to stop pounding. He feels like something has died in his mouth. If he can just sleep this off…

His eyes snap open. It's morning; he has to get downstairs to keep the breakfast scrum under control. Tavvy will inevitably want something that Julian will have to get off a high shelf, Ty will get worked into a tizzy if he can't find what he's looking for and, no doubts, Uncle Arthur will need to be pulled out of his study with no small amount of coaxing. He sits up and his head spins, his skull feeling hot and tight, the skin stretched taut over the bone.

"I'm going to kill Mark," he says, a hand pressed to his temple, kicking the sheets away. He can tell his hair's a mess and he presses it down as best he could, snatching up the t-shirt he'd discarded at some point during the night.

He trudges into the bathroom and fills the sink up with cold water. The mirror over the sink showed his pallor and shadowed eyes.

"I hate him," he mutters, shutting the tap off when the sink was full, "I _actually_ hate him."

He takes a breath and plunges his face into the sink. The cold of the water sends needles into his skin and he jerks back, sucking in air and dripping all over the floor. He yanks the plug up and grabs a towel to dry his sopping face.

"Julian!" Julian freezes. That's Uncle Arthur.

Julian steps out of the bathroom, towel still in hand, and peer up and down the hallway. There's no sign of his uncle and he's obviously not in his study. That only leaves the kitchen.

He heads down the stairs, each step jarring his headache even more. The water had woken him up but hadn't removed the stale feeling from his mouth or the rolling in his stomach. He pauses before he goes into the kitchen, straightening his shirt and breathing to try and level his stomach.

Oh, he is going to _kill _Mark.

The first thing that he sees when he steps into the kitchen is Uncle Arthur sat at the table, cup of tea at his elbow and a well-loved copy of Ovid open in front of him. He looks so much like his brother that it almost hurts. Tavvy sits next to him, eating toast smothered in chocolate spread, craning his neck to try and read.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Emma says when he approaches the coffee pot, "How are you this morning?"

He winces at her cheery tone, "Plotting murder. Where is Mark?"

"Upstairs," Emma sips at her coffee and Julian can see the beginning of a sly grin on her face, "Ty's showing him his iguana."

Julian looks into the coffee pot, wishing he could drown himself in its caffeinated depths, before he glances at his uncle, "You haven't said anything about the iguana?"

"I haven't seen him," Uncle Arthur says, absently stirring his tea, "I can, if you want, though I don't think he'll listen."

"I will," Julian says, and he has to lean on the counter when the smell of coffee makes his head spin, "Later, maybe."

"Well, first things first," Uncle Arthur stands and sets his book aside. He takes the mug of coffee from Julian's hand and pours it down the sink, "Worst thing you can have after getting pissed. Try water, lad."

Julian collapses into one of the kitchen chairs, resting his head in his arms and he feels Emma gently stroking his hair. A glass of water is set down by his head and he groans, pressing his eyes against his forearms; colours burst behind his eyelids and he tries his best to block out the scrape of chairs, the low rumbling of a kettle boiling.

"At least we know what we won't be offering the Lightwoods when they come to visit." Julian looks up to see his uncle rubbing at Tavvy's chocolate-smeared cheeks with a handkerchief, "Isn't that right, Octavian?"

"Mmhmm," Tavvy sucks the chocolate off of his fingers and picks up the discarded book.

"What, why won't you be offering it to them? Was it really that crap?" Julian's heart jumped a little, "And when are the Lightwoods coming?"

"We can't offer it because you drank it all, Jules," Emma says, patting his shoulder, "I'm kind of amazed you're not dead."

"And the Lightwoods aren't coming," Uncle Arthur's mouth thins, "Can't let them walk into the hotbed of Downworld sin that is the Blackthorn family home."

"You know," Julian says and his voice is thick, muffled by his arms, "Alec is dating a warlock."

"Yes, but he's not being exiled, is he?" It's the first time that Julian's really heard his uncle sound angry. The older man's hand tightens on his handkerchief for a moment but he quickly rubs the anger from his face and ruffles Tavvy's hair, "Go and get washed and dressed."

Tavvy slides off his chair and vanishes out of the kitchen, taking Ovid with him. Uncle Arthur doesn't object; he just drinks his tea and gathers up the plate and knife that Tavvy left behind, sweeping the crumbs off of the tabletop. Julian turns his head down again and lets Emma rub his back. There's a rumble upstairs from footsteps and he wraps his arms around his head.

"Where's my-…what's wrong with Julian?" Livia says, sounding like she's hovering in the doorway.

"He's dying," Emma says, "He might not last the day."

"Oh. Please don't die, Jules," Livia sounds remarkably unconcerned, "Then who'll run the Institute?"

Julian hears his uncle chuckle and he points towards where Uncle Arthur had been standing. Emma makes a small, sympathetic sound in the back of her throat.

"Well," Livia says, "I don't know how the _fridge _is meant to run the Institute. Unless you meant Uncle Arthur. Maybe you should go back to bed. Your _own_ bed."

Emma snickers and even Uncle Arthur laughs. Julian glares at him through the water in his glass.

"Now you're mocking me," he says, "And I hate you all."

"Oh, Julian," Uncle Arthur says and he sets down a couple of tablets, "At least you've learnt your lesson about drinking, yes? We should leave him alone."

A cup is dropped into the sink and Julian can hear Livia whispering to their uncle. Emma leans in and nudges her cheek against his head, her mouth near his ear.

"Don't bring your stomach up, Jules," she says and he can hear the laugh in her voice, "Drink your water like a good boy and have a lie down. When you hurt, I hurt. Deeply."

"Stop making fun of me," he says, lifting his head, knowing his hair is a mess again, "I'd like to see you drink that much and come up nice the next day."

"Ah, but you should take care of yourself," Emma says. She lightly pinches his cheek before she heads towards the kitchen door, "And you really should sleep in your own bed; poor Mark must be black and blue because you kick so much."

Julian waves her away and swallows the tablets, chasing it down with water. He wants to move, to drag himself back upstairs and into bed again, but the mere thought of moving makes his stomach heave and his head scream in protest. He leans forward and presses his cheek against the cool surface of the table. The gentle of thump of feet approaches the kitchen and Julian closes his eyes again, hoping that it's not Ty; for as much as he loves his younger brother, he just wants to be left alone.

"Morning."

Julian cracks his eye open to see Mark leaning on the table in front of him, "I hate you."

"That hurts. And is definitely not what you said last night."

"I regret last night. I regret it so much."

"Well, you didn't do so bad," Mark says, and he drags a chair out. The sound of the legs against the floor makes Julian's head thump, "You cried a bit, complained about my room and then told me the story of Rumpelstiltskin. Then you puked into the bathroom sink and I tucked you into bed." Mark shrugs, "People have done worse."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I ate a heart."

"Last night?"

Mark laughs and Julian wants to kick him, "No. Ages ago, the first time I got really drunk. I don't recommend it."

"I don't doubt it," Julian says, "Did I really tell you fairy tales?"

"Yep. I liked it, though."

"Good," Julian takes a deep breath through his nose to try and quell his nausea and he breathes in the smell of wood polish, "I'm glad you had fun last night. I'm happy your last night on Earth was happy."

"My _last _night on Earth?"

"Yes. Because I am going to kill you."

"But I only just got back."

"I want to go back to bed."

"Do you want me to tuck you in again?" Mark asks, and he pats Julian's hair in concern.

Julian kicks him.


End file.
